


Interesting Roommate

by Fantasy_Fan_26



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasy_Fan_26/pseuds/Fantasy_Fan_26
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has been at Baskerville High for two years prior, and knows exactly how to aggravate his roommates and get them to leave, meaning he had a room all to himself. He'd done this countless times, with every person unfortunate enough to be once roomed with Sherlock Holmes. Why would this year be any different?Enter John Watson.Full fanfic on my oneshot!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Afghanistan or Irak?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock, and all those shenanigans. 
> 
> I also know nothing about boarding schools, British, or colleges/degrees, so don't come at me for getting something wrong.
> 
> To helloliriels, sorry this took so long! Hope you like it.

“Be good Sherlock! Remember, your-” Abruptly dropped his suitcase, Sherlock successfully cut off the rest of his mother’s sentence. He’d been here for two years already, and didn’t need the “Take care, be good!” speech again.  
“Yes yes yes, I know mothe-” Now he was the one getting cut off by a harsh glare, and with a sigh, Sherlock corrected himself. “Fine, Mummy, I know what to do, I’ve been here two years already. I’ll see you at Christmas.” Reaching in to get his violin case and compacted music stand, Sherlock flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile at his mother before grabbing his things and closing the door, setting off for the front doors at a brisk walk.

It wasn’t mandatory for today, but Sherlock was dressed in his school uniform anyway, though it was only the dress pants and school shirt, as he considered the sweater “annoying and unimportant, like people.” He was, however, wearing school shoes that clicked loudly as he walked, letting everyone know that the ‘psychopath’ (It's sociopath! Get your facts right.” He would often correct whenever called this.) had arrived. Unwilling to talk to anyone, he snatched up the keys and his schedule, planning on locking himself in his room for the rest of the day, at least until his roommate arrived.

“Room 22, Building 1B.” Now wanting to be bothered, Sherlock scrawled down a note on a piece of paper and stuck it outside the room door before locking it. The paper read “Piss off, this is the sociopath’s home.” That would discourage any lost freshmen or any staff that wanted to check up on the students, as it would either scare them away or have them assume he was simply homesick. That left only his roommate to take care of, and annoyingly, it was inevitable, getting one. Of course, sooner or later he usually had the room to himself because no one wanted to live with him, but he always got a roommate at the beginning of the year.

Deciding to set a new record for how fast he could get his new roommate out, Sherlock unpacked his suitcase, which mostly consisted of experiments, books, and the occasional clothing, other necessities randomly stuffed in between the three. And, of course, his violin and music stand, which he’d never go anywhere without. Carefully, he set up his experiments on the shared desk, placed the violin near the window with the music stand set up a few feet away, and neatly folded his clothes into his dresser, putting the books in the nightstand next to a bed, claiming it as his. The desk was one of the first things in sight upon entering the room, meaning that his roommate would be at least a little frightened at once, which was exactly what Sherlock wanted. Now all that was left to do was wait, and so, to annoy his roommate further, he delved into the depths of his mind palace, not planning to resurface for several hours.

Hauling his old suitcase up the steps was a huge effort and danger to John Watson. Sure, it was only two flights of stairs, but that didn’t make it any better. It was late at night, and he was supposed to have arrived hours ago, so he didn’t want to use the elevator and wake people, that would be a bad first impression. The stairs, however, were tedious and dangerous. The suitcase, stuffed full with items, was already straining, but being dragged up two flights of stairs made John worry it might actually break, which was a probable possibility considering how old it was. So, of course, right as he got to his door, the inevitable happened, and when he dropped his suitcase to get his room key, it exploded, his things now spread about. Dropping the key in a shocked cry, John cursed, knowing that he had woken everyone up, and now they would come out to see what all the noise was about, then see all his personal items strewn across the hall. Bloody brilliant.

Several minutes and hasty scrambling later, everything was back in the suitcase, though some were hanging out a bit. Everyone had gone back inside but were definitely still awake, and as John couldn’t find that stupid key, he figured there was no harm in pounding on the door to get his roommate to let him in.

It took several minutes of knocking, and at that point, John was wondering if his roommate was even in there. He was on the verge of giving up and going back down to ask for another key when the door swung open, revealing a pale, lanky teen, who looked very annoyed. The tall boy looked him over for a few seconds, not saying a word. Shifting uneasily, John cleared his throat, wondering what was going on. “You’re my roommate then?” The teen sounded disappointed, and John hesitantly nodded.  
“Yeah, now, if you could let me in, that’d be wonderful.” Raising an eyebrow, the boy’s eyes flickered over to the suitcase on the ground and clicked his tongue, but stepped aside, talking as he went deeper into the room.  
“You’re being rather polite to me, did you not see the note on the door?” Glancing back at John, who was still standing in the doorway, pale grey eyes caught sight of John’s confused expression, and the boy let out a sigh. “Of course not, someone removed it then. Quite annoying. Either way though, you’re terribly late, I was beginning to think I got lucky and didn’t get a roommate this year.” Before John could even get a word in, the boy flopped down onto his bed, slid under the covers, and continued talking. “I’ll have you know that you should not touch anything on the desk if you value your life, and that I’m a sociopath, not a psychopath, there’s a difference. Now, I’ll be going to sleep, and if you would like to keep that photograph in your suitcase safe, do not wake me, turn the light on, or touch anything that is mine. The key is on the floor in front of you, it was kicked under the door, I assume accidentally, but someone could’ve been pranking you, that happens quite often here. Either way, I believe that’s all for tonight. Goodnight John Watson.”  
The room, which had only been illuminated with the glow of the apparent sociopath’s lamp, was turned off, plunging the room into darkness save for the light coming in from the corridor.

The door was now closed, the key placed on John’s nightstand, and his photo safely tucked away under his pillow, the rest of his things still in the suitcase that was abandoned at the foot of his bed. The teenager himself was fast asleep, tired from the day’s activities. Sherlock, however, was nowhere close to sleep. Instead, he waited and deduced, finding out that John was a rather deep sleeper, which was useful information, though a little annoying. However, no matter how much he wanted to get rid of the boy, waking him up in the middle of the night did seem a little cruel. (Wait, since when did he care about other people’s feelings?) So, instead of getting up and doing something, he settled for running over the information he’d already gathered, working out the best ways to annoy the other boy. Sherlock spent a good amount of time doing this, thinking of the most complex plans, and by the time he had everything figured out, sunlight was trying to peek through the curtains. Deciding that sleep would probably do him some good, Sherlock laid back down, his mind slowing down enough for him to get a few moments of peace, enough for him to fall asleep.

John awoke when his hand brushed past the photo’s glass frame, jolting awake from the feeling of slightly cool glass. He frowned for a second, wondering why the picture was underneath his pillow until he remembered his roommate, whose name he still didn’t know. Deciding to ask him when they were both awake, John fumbled into his jeans from yesterday, his phone still in the pocket. Glad it wasn’t dead, he blinked to clear the last of the sleep from his eyes, focusing on the screen. 6:14. With a sigh, John propped himself up on his forearms, and gasped loudly to see his roommate already awake and at the windowsill, holding a violin, perhaps just finished tuning it as his fingers were still on the peg. Though now that he was certainly aware that John was awake, the tall teen didn’t turn, and instead lifted up the violin, brought up the bow with his other hand, and began to play. Being juniors, both of them were 15, and because of so, John thought that the music would be awful, and was prepared to clap his hands over his ears when a harmonic, flowing melody was produced. Slightly mesmerized, John simply lay there for several minutes, watching him play.

“Are you just going to watch me, or are you going to say something, because it’s rather difficult to play when someone is staring at you.” Carefully placing his instrument back into its case, Sherlock turned to his roommate, taking in the messy hair and oddly bright eyes for someone up so early. Used to staying up late and not getting much sleep then, another slightly annoying aspect of his new roommate which would make him more difficult to aggravate.  
“Right. Sorry. That was, um, that was really good. You’re really good at violin.” Sighing, Sherlock walked over to his bed, reaching for his phone as it dinged, not even needing to think about his next words, the insult coming practically naturally.  
“Hopefully good enough that you’ll be inclined to find a better vocabulary,” the sociopath replied, unlocking his phone and reading the message with a scowl.  
“Oi, that was uncalled for, mate!” Sherlock snorted and vaguely waved a hand, brushing the comment away, now focused on typing out a reply.

Stop playing violin and annoying your new roommate. -Mycroft

You don’t need to sign your name, no one else could be that stalkerish or annoying. -SH

I am not stalking you, I just know you well. Besides, you’re signing your initials. -Mycroft

What I do and how my roommate is affected is not your concern. -SH

It is my concern when Mummy phones me to say that you’re causing trouble again and wants me to talk to you. Again. -Mycroft

Scowling again, Sherlock thought for a moment before typing.

How’s the diet? -SH

Changing the subject now, are we? -Mycroft

You just changed the subject as well. -SH

Just don’t cause as much trouble. -Mycroft

That’s like telling you to actually stick to your idiotic diet. -SH

No response. Sherlock smirked, taking this as his brother’s submission. “Idiot.” Placing the phone back down, Sherlock checked the time before turning it off. 6:28. Breakfast was at 7:30, so he had an hour to run his roommate out, shouldn’t be that hard. Simply expressing his interests should be enough to have him running. Or, perhaps he should deduce everything about him, that always seemed to scare them. Or both, that would work fine. A part of his plan had already been foiled, John having awoken before Sherlock started playing violin. Though annoying, there were still plenty of ways to annoy the other teen. Since John had arrived late yesterday, he’d missed the tour for new students, meaning he would have no idea where to go. Sherlock could tell him all the wrong directions, but that wasn’t really his style. He decided to go with his usual way, with insults and deductions. It happened naturally, so not much work was involved anyway.

“Er, hey, so, I didn’t catch your name. How’d you figure out mine though, yesterday?” Sherlock turned to find John fully sitting up now, legs crossed underneath the blanket like he was in first grade. Ignoring the implication that he should introduce himself, Sherlock went straight into his deductions.  
“I know your name because it’s written on your suitcase. I also know that you enjoy (American) football, want to become a doctor, are considering army doctor, and that you barely had enough money to come here. Why did you come here then?” Walking over, Sherlock picked up the phone on John’s nightstand and took a deep breath before rattling off a long string of deductions, barely pausing for breath in between his sentences.

“Gift, from a sibling. A new one, parting gift. Not from your parent, yes, singular, but anyway, your mother would say that the school is already your gift, so sibling. No younger sibling would give you their old phone. Though taken care of very well, it is an older model and is well used. So you have an older sibling who loves you enough to give you their old phone, yet they didn’t come here themself. They can’t be that much older than you, or else they would’ve needed their phone, for college and work, or whatever else. So one or two years older than you, if they were three years older, they would’ve been a legal adult, and once again, needed the phone. So they were left at home while you came here. Why? Let’s go back to your parents. Your father’s dead and neither of you loved him, but your mother did. He wasn’t abusive, but scary when drunk.”

Sherlock paused for a few moments to draw in breath, and John was blushing slightly, shocked, embarrassed, and angry. Perfect.

“Drunk? Yes, no other reason for him to become frightening or violent. If it was drugs, you and your sibling would’ve turned him in in a heartbeat. You left your sister at home with a grieving mother. It had to be your father who died, or else you wouldn’t feel safe leaving your sibling alone with an alcoholic man. Sexist? Every so slightly, but balance of probability. Now, gender regardless, your mother also turned to the bottle when your father died, and you wouldn’t want to leave your sister alone and have her relive that. Earlier on, I said that the phone was taken care of well. True, it’s spotless, except for the charging port. It has scratches everywhere, so your sibling’s hands are shaky when trying to plug it in. Conclusion, both your sibling and mother have fallen victim to the bottle, but your sibling isn’t all the way in yet and insisted you go here before you got drawn in as well or got hurt.”

“You just- I-.....” John was speechless. “I- yeah. That- that’s right.” Sherlock frowned. Where were the insults, the looks of terror, he wasn’t supposed to be amazed, he was supposed to think Sherlock was weird, a stalker, a freak. “That was…..brilliant.” At this point, Sherlock just about gaped at the boy across from him. Brilliant. Brilliant? He’d just been called brilliant. By someone he had just deduced. That was…..unnatural. Complimented. He’d just been complimented. No idea how to respond to this, Sherlock simply picked up his phone and headed out the door. He paused for a second before walking through and turned back.  
“The name’s Sherlock Holmes, and the map of the school is on the back of your schedule.” For one of the first times in his life, Sherlock was unsure of what to do next, so he did his signature click-wink that he used to charm girls, (he charmed girls so he could butter them up and get information, that’s all he was doing, buttering up John so it would be more fun to pick him apart later. That’s all, he wasn’t at all flustered, he knew exactly what he was doing.) and left, closing the door behind him.


	2. Sherlock, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things might be wrong here, as I don't do much research for my stories  
> Tell me if you see something blatantly wrong!
> 
> Ao3 also decided to be very annoying and not allow me to post this for several days, so sorry for the late update!

A confused John Watson sat on his bed, wondering what had happened. He’d only been awake for 20 minutes, hadn’t even left his bed, and he was more lost than he’d ever been.  
He ran over the facts he’d collected about his roommate. The night before, he’d been wearing the school uniform, and it’d been well past 11pm. And this morning, he’d been playing the violin at 6am, wearing the uniform, up and ready for the day.   
So he was used to not getting much sleep and had no problem with the school’s uniform, enjoyed it even. Considering he had the most ridiculous and poshest sounding name possible, the fact that he wasn’t bothered with a fancy uniform shouldn’t be much of a surprise. Sherlock Holmes. (Of course, it had crossed John’s mind that he’d slept in the same room as a complete stranger, not even knowing his name and that with the threats he’d thrown out along with the experiments on the table, he could’ve been a murderer for all John knew, yet he’d trusted a random teenager to not pull a prank on him or steal his things. He wasn’t going to think about how he quickly trusted a complete stranger, he was just tired that night is all.)  
Not only could he play the violin, but he could apparently also read your life story off of you like you were a book.   
He also threw out threats, was rude, and did crazy experiments from the look of it. John had himself a very interesting roommate. Picking up his phone from where Sherlock had left it, (at the foot of John’s bed, dropped after Sherlock examined the charging port,) John called his sister, knowing she was either still awake or woken up already. 

“John! How’re you?” Harry’s words were slightly slurred, which usually meant someone hadn’t had too much to drink, but considering his sister’s high alcohol tolerance, that wasn’t always the case. Either way, he was glad to hear her, and was happy she had that old spare phone that he could call.   
“Hey, Harry! I’m…..” John debated whether or not he should tell her about Sherlock, and decided not to, yet. She might be offended that he’d figured everything out about their disfuctinal family, or think he was living with some sort of psychopath, which reminded John; Sherlock had called himself a sociopath, hadn’t he? Said he was a sociopath, not a psychopath, that there was a difference.   
“John? You alright?” Realizing that he’d been silent for too long, John quickly gave his reply in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.   
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Quickly changint the topic, he asked, “Harry, how much’ve you had to drink?” There was a pause, and John sighed, prompting his sister. “Harry, come on. We both know it’s a problem, that’s why I’m here at Baskerville. No need to hide it. How much?”   
“Nothing extreme, just a couple shots.” John waited for his sister to go into more detail, and after a moment, she did, but with a sigh.   
“Four shots of vodka, three of whiskey. I had to make do with what mom had, I’m not allowed to buy any of that. I used up the last of it, that’s why I switched.” For a moment, John panicked.   
“You used up all of it?” There was a quiet chuckle and the sound of someone moving. “What’s so funny?” He asked.   
“You. You’re still so oblivious as to how alcohol works. Mom got drunk, she most likely won’t remember how much she drank, so don’t worry, she won’t take it out on me. Whenever she gets drunk, all she does is drink even more until she passes out, I’ll be fine. You have classes to attend, and so do I. Call me back later, yeah?”   
“Yeah, alright. Love you, Harry.”   
“Love you.” 

With a click, the call ended. John didn’t believe Harry for a second, knowing that she’d probably just skip school. He couldn’t do much about it though and decided to just get ready for the day. It was nearly 7, and he had class after breakfast, so he needed to get ready.   
A half-hour later, John had his school bag slung over his shoulder, phone in pocket, and the schedule/map in hand. The school grounds were annoyingly large, and there were several buildings, which, to John, all appeared to have no order and all looked the same.   
Frustrated, John walked out of what felt like the hundredth building and wandered the school grounds, deciding to just skip breakfast, and as homeroom was at 8:20, he had plenty of time to leisurely wander. Breakfast ended at 8, meaning he would have plenty of time trying to find someone to help him navigate the school once breakfast did end.   
His plan set, he found himself walking to the pond, (what kind of bloody school has a pond?) where a lone figure sat on a rock, and as he got closer, John could see a crisp white shirt with wild, untamed curls. Sherlock.   
Upon getting even closer, John could see smoke billowing up and around him. 

“What the hell are you doing?” John gaped at his roommate, watching him languidly smoke a cigarette. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, asking a silent question. What do you think I’m doing? “Sherlock, you’re smoking.”  
“It would appear so, yes.” Shocked by how calm Sherlock was taking this, John tried to snatch the cigarette away, but failed horribly, the sociopath calmly getting up and stepping away.   
“You’re fifteen! You can’t smoke! You’re breaking the bloody law!” Smirking, Sherlock repeated the exact sentence as before.   
“It would appear so, yes.” Finishing off his cigarette, Sherlock threw it into the pond and strolled away, leaving John to scramble after him.  
“Sherlock, you just littered. Oh my fucking god I’m rooming with a criminal, one who smokes and litters. You’re like someone a school would bring in and they would say don’t be like you.” Sherlock snorted and brought out his phone, checking the time. 8:04.  
“Am I supposed to be offended by that?” He drawled, taking long, quick, strides so John had to slightly jog to keep up.   
“Well….yes.” There was a silence that was only broken by a soft rustling as Sherlock searched through his pockets for something.   
As he watched, John was struck by something. “You’ve been here for a few years already, haven’t you?” No response.   
“You know where the cafeteria is, yet you skipped breakfast. Or did you just come out here because you knew I would get lost and come out?”  
Lighting another cigarette, Sherlock took a long drag and blew out a billow of smoke before responding.   
“Does it have to be one?” Walking away, Sherlock left behind a John Watson who was even more confused than in the morning. 

After Sherlock left him standing next to the pond, looking after a disappearing trail of smoke, John had rushed to class, most of his time spent trying to find the right room.  
Fortunately, in homeroom, he met a student who was willing to show him around, and even be his friend. His name was Mike Stamford, and he’d been at Baskerville High since becoming a freshman.   
As far as John could tell, he was a nice guy, who wasn’t one of the sporty popular boys, but had lots of friends because of his personality, not because of looks or athleticism.   
John liked that about him, and agreed to meet him, ironically, next to the pond to have a tour after classes.   
“You wouldn’t have wanted to go to yesterday’s tour anyway, it would be full of freshmen. Meet me next to the pond at 3:30 and I’ll give you a tour, yeah?” Then they’d parted, going off to their different classes. 

Either Sherlock really didn’t have any classes with him, or he just skipped class, which wouldn’t be that surprising to John after learning that he fucking smoked.   
As it was the first day of school, that meant not much work, so it gave him plenty of time to think about his interesting roommate.   
He hoped to see him at lunch, but such no luck, as the tall teen was nowhere to be seen when he walked into the cafeteria.   
However, he did have a place to sit with Mike and his friends, where he was introduced. They were all in his grade, and he had already seen a few of them in his classes. He assumed the ones sitting at the table with him were his closest friends, because several people waved to him, but didn’t sit with him. John glanced around, trying to analyze them like Sherlock did to him.

A girl with kind eyes and brown hair that seemed to have a reddish hint, Molly Hooper. She also wanted to become a doctor, and she was the one John liked the most.   
A boy with snottish features, slightly curled hair and slightly pale, who was sitting close to another girl with puffed up, curly brown hair and a darker skin tone. Philip Anderson and Sally Donovan, both of whom wanted to be detectives, though Anderson wanted to be on the forensic team.   
And finally, a girl who looked like the female version of Sherlock. Her hair was dark and cut short, styled in the same way a boy’s might be. It had a bit of a curl at the end, and her eyes were sharp and intelligent. She wore makeup, jewlery and fake nails, but not the school uniform, yet no one seemed to be scolding her. He didn’t question it, and he was sure that even under the makeup, she was pretty. Very pretty.   
Sharp cheekbones, curly hair, smartly dressed, ignoring school rules, she seemed exactly like John’s new roommate. 

“What d’you think of Sherlock? Tall guy, curly hair?” He asked, digging into his lunch. Molly blushed, Philip and Sally snorted, while Irene and Mike just grinned.   
Raising an eyebrow at the three different reactions, he made a rolling motion with his hands to tell them to explain.   
“We’ve heard of him all right. He’s a psychopath, don’t get near him. He’s a freak, he can tell your life story just by looking at your shoes or something. We all hate him, except Molly, she has a crush on the weirdo.” Donovon said, causing Molly blushed even harder while Mike frowned.  
“We don’t all hate him, just you and Philip.” Anderson raised an eyebrow, and reluctantly, Mike added, “And the maybe rest of the school. Except Irene, Molly, and I.”   
John looked around at them, surprised, Swallowing the last of his food, he wondered if he should tell them or not.   
“Er, well, he also smokes and is my roommate.” Smiling awkwardly at them, he shuffled around the suspicious looking corn on his plate, not wanting to make eye contact. Mike raised his eyebrows and chuckled.  
“You’re his roomie? Dang, goodluck mate.”   
“We know he smokes, like a chimney in fact. Why d’you think his voice is so deep?” Donovan added, eager to point out any faults about the ‘freak’ as she called him.   
“Perhaps because my voice is naturally that way, and unlike you, I don’t use anything to improve myself. My curls are indeed natural, unlike yours Donovan.”   
The owner of that smooth baritone voice slid down into a spot between Mike and Irene, the two tall teenagers looking odd next to the stouter Mike.   
“My hair is naturally curly, you idiot!” Sally snarled, blushing hard at being caught. Sherlock hardly showed any reaction at the shout, instead idly taking one of Irene’s apple slices. He took his time eating it, ignoring Sally’s reddening face.  
“Yes, it is curly by nature. However, you’ve been curling it more and more, since it’s been getting more straight than curly now, and your curls are apparently the reason that idiot Anderson fell in love with you, and you desperately want to keep him.” Sherlock brushed his hands together and stood, flashing a smile with his brilliantly white teeth. “See you in the dorm, John.” Then he was gone.   
John turned to Mike, amused, amazed, and confused. Mike simply shrugged, and a grin tugged at his lips.  
“Yeah. He’s always like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter title is going to be a Sherlock quote, so if you have any favourite quotes, tell me! 
> 
> This title isn't someone asking Sherlock to do something btw, it's Sherlock telling John to call him by his first name when they meet at 221B.


	3. Might be Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda just a filler chapter, technically it's not strictly necessary to read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited (at least by someone else that's not me) and I know nothing of the British or boarding schools, so I apologize for any mistakes.  
> I know, technically not a quote if he sent a text, but all the same.  
> (Also my English teacher is teaching my class how to use semicolons, and I still have no idea, so if I put them in the wrong place, or a semicolon is required, apologies!)

“Consulting detective.” Sherlock tried, wondering how it sounded. “Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.” 

It didn’t sound too bad, and was better than the other variations he’d come up with. While he said it out a few more times, John chose that moment to walk in, back from his tour with Mike. 

“A what detective?” Throwing his bag on the ground, John glanced over at the shoes propped up on the desk, carefully placed in between petri dishes. 

Oddly enough, Sherlock didn’t tell him to piss off, or just ignore him, like he did with his other roommates. Instead, he swung his legs down and snapped on science goggles while talking. 

“That’s what I’m going to be, a consulting detective. You like the sound of it?” 

Clearly baffled, John blinked and hesitantly nodded before realizing Sherlock couldn’t see him; he was completely focused on dripping some sort of liquid through a pipette. 

“Yeah, it uh, doesn’t sound bad.” There was a pause as the genius waited for John to figure it out. “Wait...that’s not an actual job, is it?” 

A little plume of smoke floated up from one of Sherlock’s petri dishes, having sizzled loudly when the liquid in the pipette had dropped into it. 

John eyed him warily, the smoke reminding him of this morning when he caught Sherlock smoking. Well, not caught, exactly, as Sherlock hadn’t seemed too keen on hiding it. 

“Congratulations, you figured it out. No, it’s not a real job. But it will be, and I’ll be the first.” Pushing the dish to the side, the curly-haired boy pulled the goggles off and slid the chair over a bit to the microscope. 

John blinked, confused. “Right...Okay, I feel like we need to address your issue though.” He added, quickly changing the topic. 

“I have several, you’re going to have to specify which one,” Sherlock replied, still looking at his experiment. 

“You’re a git, you know?” John groaned, wandering over to his suitcase.

“I’ve been told several times, so it would be quite concerning if I didn’t know.” Dropping his bag on his bed, John barked out a laugh as he rummaged around for a change of clothes.

“There is a dresser, you know,” drawled a voice from behind him, causing John to jump. Sherlock was standing, or, well, practically towering over him, his science goggles on his forehead. 

“Jesus! How’s a tall git like you move so quietly in those fancy shoes?” Sherlock seemed immensely pleased by this reaction and responded by striding over to the dresser and pulled a drawer open. 

“Go ahead, I’m only using the top half of them anyway.” Kicking the drawer shut, Sherlock wandered over to his violin, pulling off the goggles and carelessly throwing them onto the chair. 

“Sherlock, you’re fifteen and you smoke.” John approached the topic carefully, hoping his roommate wouldn’t become defensive, or angry. The contrary seemed to happen though, as he casually tuned the instrument and asked, 

“Problem?” When John gaped, Sherlock rolled his eyes and lifted the violin to his shoulder. “It would greatly help if you would stop staring at me like that and get on with it before I lose my limited patience.” 

Hastily moving on before the infuriating self-proclaimed sociopath blocked him out, John replied, 

“You smoke, and you don’t see the problem with that?” John was incredulous, and couldn’t believe he even had to ask that. Picking up the bow with long, delicate fingers, Sherlock replied, 

“No, I don’t, as you aren’t going to report me to anyone.” He began to play louder than was necessary, and John took this as a hint that the conversation was over. 

“You’re right, I’m not, but I would like it if you stopped.” This caused Sherlock to falter slightly, but he quickly covered it up with an impromptu, fast, staccato tune. 

Sighing, John put his clothes away in drawers, pulling out the ones he would wear after his shower. Then he hesitated and turned to the taller boy. 

“We don’t have to wear the uniform after school, do we?” John sincerely hoped not, he knew he’d stain the white shirt during dinner, it was a miracle he didn’t do so during lunch earlier. 

Sherlock stopped playing long enough to deliver a curt, “No,” before returning to his music. 

Shaking his head at his roommate’s rudeness, John ducked into the bathroom, luckily finding no experiments in there. (At least for the time being.) 

Sherlock waited until the shower turned on before he stopped playing and reached over to his laptop, turning it on. 

Clicking onto his website, Sherlock checked for any new messages. He had a small business at school, where he helped people sort out their mundane problems, like someone getting something stolen, if someone was cheating or interested, (useless sentiment) or, occasionally, if teachers asked for his help, whether someone had caused trouble or not. 

Of course, he didn’t need the money he got from his classmates, but there was a certain satisfaction at being able to figure out things that others couldn’t, as well as a free chance to insult them. Plus, he often denied the money if he was asked to do something interesting, as the stimulation was enough payment for him. 

Being insulted was one of the requirements if they hired him; they had to withstand the barrage of insults that he doled out a healthy amount of. Technically, it wasn’t a written requirement, but it was just a rule that everyone knew. 

“Piss off the tall, gangly boy and you’ll be on the receiving end of a wicked tongue and have your life story, embarrassing moments and all, spilled in front of the whole school.” 

And the thing was? No one annoyed him, because they knew he could and would do it, and every word would be truer than the Bible. 

However, just because no one annoyed him didn’t mean he had any friends. Enemies, he had his fair share of, they just never did anything to him except glare at him. 

These were the people whose life story he’d spilt. 

Friends were more difficult to come by. He supposed Irene Adler was the closest thing he had to a friend, as Mike Stamford was friends with everyone and Molly Hooper just had an increasingly annoying crush on him. 

Irene was good enough though, and he didn’t particularly want her, or anyone was a friend anyway. 

Most boys (and even some girls) would die to date, or even just be friends with Irene Adler. Sherlock was not most people. He functioned perfectly fine on his own, had for fifteen whole years. 

His roommate might change that though. He was different from the others, he was  _ nice _ . While most just told Sherlock to piss off when he rattled off his deductions, John had been in awe, even called him brilliant. 

John also hadn’t turned him in for smoking, which was new. Sherlock, had, of course, been lying, bluffing, when he said that John wouldn’t turn him in. He hadn’t been sure of that, he wasn’t  _ that _ good. 

Not being reported was new though, and it was a nice change. Of course, he hadn’t smoked in front of his former roommates before, that would just be stupid, and Sherlock was far from such. 

Donovan and Anderson did know though and did report him, but he’d been clever to hide it so it looked like they were accusing him with no evidence. 

It was quite satisfying when the principal told them not to cause such trouble and accuse their classmate of doing such a thing just because they disliked him. 

Of course, Mike, Irene, and Molly did know and didn’t report him, but they’d known him for a while and had gotten used to his antics. Their personalities also helped, Mike too kind, Molly liked him far too much, and Irene just did not care. 

John, on the other hand, had just met him yesterday, several of his worst traits shown and none of the good, unless you could count the deductions which often seemed to cause him more trouble than not. 

He also didn’t seem like the type of person to allow someone to get away with something serious, and Sherlock was pretty sure underage smoking, or any smoking at all, was considered pretty serious. 

John was different, and Sherlock wondered if that was good or not. 

“Hey, Sherlock!” Someone called out.  _ Finally, _ Sherlock thought. 

Idly looking up from his plate, a mess of black curls and piercing blue eyes turned to look at the boy running toward him. 

Sebastian Wilkes, who’d messaged him, claiming he needed Sherlock’s help for something about graffiti and stolen money. 

It was a break from the messages from paranoid boyfriends or girlfriends who were worried about their significant other cheating. Honestly, it wasn’t like you were going to stay with them forever, so Sherlock didn’t see the point in caring about such a thing. He only answered those because he was bored.

Sherlock didn’t want to seem desperate, however, so he told Sebastian to meet him at dinner, the only reason he’d come down to the cafeteria in the first place. 

“My friend got his locker graffitied and broken into, and they took his wallet, could you figure out who it is?” Everyone-meaning everyone who’d been at that same table during lunch-turned to look at Sebastian, none of them having actually believed that someone would hire Sherlock. 

“What sort of idiot leaves his wallet in his locker? Those things are incredibly easy to break into.” Sherlock replied, pretending to be uninterested. 

Graffiti was always fun, and stolen money made it even better. Obviously, the surface of a locker is small, meaning not much room for any actual good graffiti, so it would largen the number of suspects, which always made things more fun. 

More suspects meant more stimulation for his brain, experiments, composing and playing music on the violin could only entertain one for so long. 

“You’re a git, now come on, I know you want to do this, you find it fun,” Sebastian replied. He had this annoying habit of knowing Sherlock too well, having been in the same primary school as him and had at least one class with him every year. 

“Give me the locker number tomorrow, and have whoever’s locker it is with you. And no, I don’t want money for this case, clearly your friend needs it more, maybe they could get a replacement brain as to not be so stupid as to leave their wallet in their locker.” Turning back to his dinner, Sherlock dismissed his classmate, ignoring the ‘Freak,’ that was breathed into his ear when Sebastian clapped his shoulder. 

“You would know how easy it is to break into a locker, wouldn’t you?” Donovan snarkily asked, trying to ignite Sherlock. 

“Of course I do, it’d take an idiot to not know.” Mike gave him a slightly offended look, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, adding, “Tell me, do any of you keep valuables in your locker? Mobile, wallet, jewelry?” 

To this, all of them shook their heads, except for Anderson, who coughed into his fist and poked at his food. 

“Point proven, we all know that someone could easily steal something from our lockers so we only keep school supplies in them, mostly books since they’d be more difficult to steal. Except, of course, Anderson, who keeps his credit card in his locker for some absurd reason, but we all knew he was an idiot already, so no surprise.” 

With that, Sherlock picked up the tray that contained his barely touched food and left, an insult, of course, being the last thing he said to them before the next day. 

Everyone turned to Anderson, waiting for confirmation if he really did keep his credit card in his locker. 

“Okay, fine, I do, but it’s well hidden, no one would find it but me. It’s just simpler than carrying around an entire wallet or accidentally breaking the weak plastic card in my pocket or something.” 

Sherlock, who never forgot anything, came back and picked up his supposedly forgotten phone from the table. 

“No, it’s not, it’s behind that ridiculous picture of you and Donovan, and it falls from its ‘secure’ hiding place almost every day when you open your locker.” He said, putting as much sarcasm as he could into the word secure.

Flipping the phone in the air, he added, “You also keep the pin number written on the back of that photo, which is just stupid. Even a toddler could memorize a four-digit code, but apparently, you’re worse than that.” 

He strolled away, still making sure that his last word was an insult. 

A few seconds later, John heard his mobile ding with a notification. Digging it out of his pocket, he was surprised to see an unknown number had texted him. 

Opening it, it read, 

_ Care to join me tomorrow? The person who’s locker it is plays football-I could use your help. -SH _

John was surprised, and hesitated for a minute before texting back, 

_ Sure, just come find me after class _

Barely a moment later Sherlock responded. 

_ We share the last class of the day tomorrow, which is science, the only subject that is not dreadfully boring. -SH _

Of course Sherlock had read his schedule. John huffed with amusement and put his phone away, turning back to his meal. 

Sherlock, strange name for a strange boy, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping "Study in Pink" but I couldn't think of a way to put that into something highschoolers would do.  
> This is just going right into "Blind Baker" but obviously won't be the exact same, our favourite duo being teenagers.  
> Next chapter will be their first "case"!
> 
> Also, I hope I didn't offend anyone with the sentence about the Bible? It was honestly the best analogy my brain-dead mind could think of. 
> 
> Happy Spring Break to all you fellow students!
> 
> Okay, how do I delete the notes below this-

**Author's Note:**

> Extra:  
> Mycroft is studying political science, and his roommate, Lestrade, is studying law enforcement. Both of those degrees take about 4 years, but I'm going to stretch the truth a bit here. Mycroft is still 7 years older than Sherlock, and John and Lestrade are the same age as their roommates. 
> 
> May or may not be Mystrade later :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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